Sarrum Disposal
by A Dwimor
Summary: AU in which Merlin is present for the Sarrum of Amat's visit and he hears of Aithusa's fate. Basically gratuitous killing off of the Sarrum. Because I hate him.


"...and as the dragon grew, it gradually became more twisted and deformed." The Sarrum's cold voice betrayed his satisfaction.

"You are a harsh judge, Lord Sarrum." Murmured Arthur, trying to contain his disgust at the exultant cruelty displayed by the man beside him, who was sharing his table. Morgana was his enemy, true, and her creature was no ally, but the Sarrum's course of action was not one he would imitate, or admire. He regretted inviting this fiend to Camelot.

"If you will excuse me Lord Sarrum." Gwen intoned, fleeing the table.

Behind Arthur, Merlin had frozen. The words 'Twisted and deformed' echoed in his head.

Deformed and twisted.

Merlin's hands began to shake. The flagon of wine he had been holding crashed to the ground as Guinivere left the hall. Arthur jumped, swearing, and turned to Merlin.

"MERLIN. What the hell...?" The words froze on Arthur's tongue as his friend walked to stand in front of the high table.

Merlin's jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed, his lip curled, his body tense. He bent to stare into the face of the Sarrum of Amat. The Sarrum stared back, seemingly amused.

Merlin suddenly threw himself forward, grabbing the Sarrum's shirtfront. "You dare to lay a hand on me, whelp?! I will...!" The despot began angrily, but he was not allowed to finish.

"How DARE you. How dare you TOUCH Aithusa, the brother of my soul! May the earth reject your bones and the crows pick at your flesh. No one will mourn your passing; you will find no rest in this life, or the next, this I promise!" Merlin hissed.

Merlin's other arm shot out and he grabbed Arthur. Immediately at his touch Arthur was overcome by extreme disorientation; darkness overcame him.

...

Arthur's eyes flickered. A deep voice sounded, seemingly in his head. "The king is awake, young warlock." Arthur shoved down the panic that flew into his throat at those words.

He raised himself, spitting out grasses as he looked at the strange company surrounding him. A small white dragon stood close, examining him nervously. Reflexively he reached for his sword. Damn. Unarmed. To his right, Mordred stood, mirroring the dragon's expression, but it was directed at a seething Merlin in front of him.

"I came because you need me Emrys."

"I am quite capable of taking care of myself!"

"Of that there is no doubt. I am more concerned about your judgement and your rage. A dragonlord's rage against an enemy of his kin. You are not in control, Merlin...Why did you not tell me of the Dragonlord's gift?" Mordred queried quietly.

"Now is not the time Mordred." Merlin growled. Mordred nodded in acquiescence. "I suppose we have bigger problems." Mordred turned to look at Arthur.

Privately, Merlin appreciated that one small word. "We". He turned to face Arthur.

"Arthur. I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I should not have brought you."

"MERLIN. What the HELL IS GOING ON?"

A voice rumbled above him. "The son of the dragonlord Balinor is exacting judgement on an enemy of his kin." Arthur's head shot back to find himself dwarfed by the great dragon.

"SHIT! You're...And You're...!"

"A very astute observation, king."

So, dragons could talk. And evidently possessed a very firm grasp on sarcasm. And Merlin...

"I don't have time for explanations Arthur. With every moment the Sarrum of Amat continues to live he poisons the earth, and sours the air. I hereby before witnesses exact revenge for the brutal torture of my kin." Merlin growled, and turned to the form of the Sarrum of Amat, standing in front of them, frozen, fear on his face, his voice as arrested as his body.

Mordred stepped backwards.

Merlin thrust his hand to the sky, and unnatural storm clouds gathered on the horizon, racing towards them. Excruciatingly slowly he lowered his palm, directing it at the foul excuse for a man cowering before him, released from the freezing spell. "Swilte!" Merlin screamed. As a cornered animal jumps, so did the Sarrum. In the middle of his last ditch attack he was struck dead by lightning, his corpse making a thumping sound as it met the earth just short of the dragonlord.

Merlin gazed at the body. "Mid þæm wundorcræft þæs ealdan æwe".

...

"Mid þæm wundorcræft þæs ealdan æwe" = hopefully means "by the power that is ancient I curse thee".

"Swilte" = violent death.


End file.
